The Jade Dragon (21 page)

Watching my grandmother, I saw her eyes misting over, looking inward, looking back.

“Saudade,
Elinor,
saudade.
This yearning, this longing that everyone with Portuguese blood is fated to suffer. We feel with the heart, we do not think coldly with the head, like the English.”

‘Then you do understand what Mama endured,” I cried triumphantly. “You do understand that it was never her wish to be alienated from you and her father.”

In the silence, I heard the purring of the silver tabby that was rubbing its neck against my grandmother’s ankle. For once she took no notice, and I knew my words had moved her. “Why did Joanneira never write to us?” she asked wistfully. “Never a line, never a single word. She went off with that English doctor of hers and turned her back upon her parents forever. We loved her, and we would have forgiven her in the end, if only she had asked for our forgiveness. But she was too proud. She did not care enough. I waited and waited, certain that Joanneira would at least let us know she was alive and well. But in the end, when still no word came from her, I decided that my daughter -must be dead. Dona Amalia’s black eyes narrowed and became hard as flint. “I would rather my daughter
had
been dead, than that she should have treated us so cruelly.”

I looked at my grandmother in dismay. Earlier, I had decided never to mention the letter my mother had written, agreeing with my uncle that to do so would cause more harm than good. But now I
had
to speak out. “Grandmama,” I said slowly, gently, “my mother did write to you. It was just after I was born. She wanted you to know you had a grandchild. She wanted you to know she was happy with my father. She longed for your blessing upon her marriage.”

“But no letter ever reached us.”

I could sense my grandmother’s astonishment, her sheer bewilderment, and I had no doubt that her reaction was genuine. “Oh yes, the letter reached its destination,” I said sorrowfully. “It was opened and read—and then returned to her in England. Returned without comment, just as she had sent it. Mama could not possibly have suffered a harsher rejection.”

I was shocked by the swift change in the old lady. She paled to a deathly white, and her hands trembled violently. I went and put my arms around her, holding her, trying to calm her. But she shook me off angrily. “I do not believe this. Fernando would never ... not his own daughter. It is unthinkable—”

“Grandmama, it is true. I did not know it myself until just before I left England. You see, my father told Dr. Carlisle, and the doctor told me. He told me in order to warn me that I would not be welcome here at Castanheiros.”

The desolation and despair on Dona Amalia’s face was terrible to see. Had I done wrong to force this into the open, I wondered unhappily? But wasn’t the alternative worse, to let her go on believing a lie? To let her think so bitterly of the daughter she had loved, her only child, for the sake of preserving a false memory about her husband? Since both husband and daughter were dead now, wasn’t it better that she should at last know the truth? This way, perhaps, my grandmother and I could come together in real intimacy and affection for the little time she had left to live.

But for the moment Dona Amalia was fighting against the truth. Still white and trembling, she shook her head emphatically from side to side. “Fernando would not do such a thing. It is wicked even to suggest it.”

“But Grandmama “

“Leave me,” she commanded. “Go, Elinor, I do not want you here.”

“Please listen,” I begged, reaching impulsively for her hand. But she snatched it away.

“Leave me, I said. Leave me at once, do you hear?”

Sadly I turned away, weighed down by a sense of defeat. But as I reached the door, Dona Amalia called my name.

“Elinor—”

I paused, my heartbeats coming faster. “Yes, Grandmama?”

The light fell from behind her, and I could not see her face clearly, but there was something beseeching, imploring in her manner. I feared she was going to beg me to retract what I’d said about the letter, to tell her it was untrue. But her question, when it came, surprised me.

“My Joanneira, your mother—she really
was
happy with your father, Elinor?”

My heart surged with relief, because I knew that at long last I had won through to her. “Yes, Grandmama, she was truly happy. They loved one another devotedly till the day they died.”

The sense of relief was short-lived. Compared with my feelings about Stafford, my grandmother’s change of attitude seemed a very minor triumph. How I wished now that I had never questioned Pedro on the drive to Miramar. How I wished that I had never witnessed the two men talking together in the pagoda. Yet had I not done so, what then? I would still be blissfully in the dark, but the truth itself would be unchanged. What had Pedro known about Stafford that made it imperative for him to be silenced—first by the payment of money, then by the final silencing of death?

Fortunately, no one was about as I went down the curving stairway. I slipped quickly across the great hall and made my way to the garden room, where the flurried chirping of the birds in the aviaries seemed to match my rapid heartbeats. I took a seat in one of the basket chairs and closed my eyes, trying to calm myself. But I was given no opportunity. Only moments passed before Stafford walked in.

“I thought I saw you coming here, Elinor. How do you feel this morning?”

“I ... I am still rather shaken.”

He nodded, then said in an accusing voice, “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because you have talked to other people, but not to me. Earlier this morning, when I interrupted your good-byes to Julio, you beat a hasty retreat upstairs. So why are you avoiding me, Elinor?”

“You are imagining things,” I said nervously.

“I think not.” He sat down in a chair beside me, and his tone softened. “I do realize you went through a very upsetting experience yesterday, but you mustn’t allow it to spoil our relationship, Elinor. The fact that you came to meet me at Miramar as I asked proves that you must care for me.”

“It does nothing of the kind. You ... you asked me to go to Miramar to advise on the restoration of the house from a woman’s point of view “

“How can you pretend like this?” he interrupted, giving me a reproachful look. “I asked you to come, I begged you to come—and you came. That is proof enough for me.”

I made an effort to meet his eyes coolly and steadily, but I was forced to glance away. I felt the color burning in my cheeks. “If ... if I hadn’t gone, you might have read into my refusal a certain antagonism I didn’t want to convey. What happened that other afternoon at Miramar was a regrettable mistake, but you can hardly pretend it was of any great consequence. It cannot be undone, but it is best forgotten. If you’re a true gentleman, you’ll allow me to put it out of my mind by never speaking of the matter again.”

“Elinor!” he exclaimed in a shocked voice. “Why are you saying these things? Not a single word of it is from your heart.”

“What can you know of my heart, Mr. Darville?”

“Mr. Darville. Has it really come to that?” Stafford tried to take my hand, but I snatched it away. Frowning deeply, he rose to his feet and began pacing around, hands clasped behind his back.

“You raised the question of ... of a certain lady … of my association with her. I’ve always believed that over certain aspects of a man’s life it’s tactful to draw a veil. All the same, I recognize that you’re a young woman of high character and principles. Indeed, I value you even more for these qualities. That being so, I concede that you have a right to expect an explanation from me.”

“I claim no such right, Mr. Darville. Your personal affairs are entirely your own. They have nothing to do with me.”

“For God’s sake! How can you be so cruel to me, Elinor?”

“I, cruel to you?”

“You think, then, that I’m the one who’s being cruel? Tell me in what, pray. I’ve offered to explain about the issue that caused the rift between us.”

My intense longing to be convinced of Stafford’s sincerity, of his innocence, was in itself a warning to me. I knew it was dangerous to continue our conversation, dangerous because my powers of reasoning were being weakened with every moment that passed. I rose on unsteady legs, and turned to face him. “I must ask you not to pursue this any further, Mr. Darville—either now or in the future.”

“But I can make no such promise, Elinor. I’ll leave you now, if that’s what you want, but I shall seek you out again.”

“Then you’ll force me to speak of what I know,” I cried recklessly.

“And what is that, Elinor? Tell me.”

From the look on his face, he appeared to be genuinely puzzled, yet was he only mocking me? Because he knew that I could prove
nothing.
It would be his word against mine. Pedro, the only person who might have condemned him, was dead. Stafford had made certain of his silence. I felt myself trapped in a corner. How could I hope to fight back against this man? His mind was clear and cold and calculating. Mine was choked with memories of a love that had flamed briefly and transformed my whole life.

Evading Stafford’s question, I said, “I would leave Castanheiros and return to England, if it were not for my grandmother. You urged me not to come in the first place, and I know how relieved you would be to see me go---”. My voice faltered, and I turned away to make my escape. Then I halted abruptly. Vicencia was standing in the doorway.

“I wondered where you were, Elinor.” Her eyes glanced swiftly from the one to the other of us, and I could see that she knew we’d been quarreling, even if she hadn’t actually overheard anything. “Stafford, I think the poor girl is tired out, so you had better continue your chat another time. Off you go.”

For a moment, he stood hesitating, his eyes alive with anger. Then he shrugged his acquiescence. “Very well. I realize, Elinor, that you’re under great strain, so I won’t trouble you with my company any longer for the moment.”

When Stafford had left us, I moved over to stand by one of the large windows and looked out across the gardens, my forehead pressed against the cool smoothness of the glass. Behind me, I was aware of Vicencia moving about restlessly.

“Elinor,” she began at length, “I have to confess that I overheard some of your conversation with Stafford. I know it was wrong of me to listen, but you were both so absorbed, you did not notice me.”

My face crimsoned. “How ... how much did you hear?”

“Enough. I cannot tell you how relieved I am,” she went on. “I cannot tell you how it has grieved me to stand by helplessly and see what was happening to you. To you, of all people! I could have tried to warn you, but I knew you would never listen to me while you were so infatuated with him. Thank heaven, though, you have seen for yourself what Stafford is really like before too much harm has been done.”

“But I don’t understand,” I said in bewilderment, turning slowly to face her. “You’ve always shown such a high regard for Stafford. You never once had an ill word to say of him. Yet now you speak as though you despise him.”

“Despise?” she whispered, glancing away from me. “If only I could. But how is it possible for a woman to despise the man she loves?”

“You
love
Stafford? I never guessed. I knew you were very fond of him, that you greatly admired him. But ... but I didn’t realize it went further than that.”

She turned to look at me again, and in her brown eyes there was a sort of defiance. “That was a careless slip I made, but the truth is out now. Yes, I love Stafford. But I am compelled to hide my true feelings. Ours is a love that has to remain concealed for some time yet. You must not mention it to anyone, Elinor. Promise me you will not.”

My heart was beating painfully, and my throat felt tight. “You speak as if ... as if Stafford loves you in return.”

She gestured helplessly. ‘There is no use my pretending any more with you. Stafford and I... how can I describe the force that binds us together? It is like fate. And over the years Stafford has remained loyal and steadfast in his feelings for me, through all the secrecy that has been necessary, through all the deceptions. Luzia’s death made things harder for us, not easier—” I gasped out loud, and Vicencia gave me a sad little smile. “Yes, it is true. We were lovers long before Luzia died, before even my husband died. Stafford did not love Luzia. He never did. She was quite the wrong woman for him, as he very soon discovered.”

“And so he turned to you for consolation,” I said bitterly, feeling sickened and a little faint.

“Perhaps at first, but only at first. It didn’t take Stafford long to realize that I was different from all the other women to whom he has “turned for consolation,” as you put it. Between us there was something unique. Something unquenchable.”

I felt a burning need to hurt her, to revenge the pain in my heart. “I daresay the
fado
singer Inesca thinks that she too is different.”

“Oh, Elinor, you know nothing of the world.” cried Vicencia impatiently. “What is it to me that Stafford has other women? I understand the kind of man he is. He
needs
women, and he likes variety. I could even understand it when he started to look in your direction—you are very attractive, with a sort of youthful freshness that would appeal to him as a change. But I am never jealous when he strays. The only reason I minded about
you
was that I’d become fond of you, Elinor, and I didn’t want you to be hurt, as would undoubtedly have been the case. You see, I know that none of Stafford’s other women really mean anything to him. I have even been glad of them in a way. This
fadista
everyone whispers about, she has been useful in disguising the real truth.”

Waves of revulsion washed over me, and I felt an urge to turn and run, to put as much distance as I could between Vicencia and myself. But a question was hammering at me, and I had to know the answer to it. “These rumors about the way Luzia died—that it was not an accident, but suicide. Are they true? Did she take her own life, because she was driven to despair by the knowledge that you and Stafford were lovers?”